The Ledge
by Kathy Rose
Summary: Malcolm has a choice to make: Try to save himself, or drown. Written for November's Drown Malcolm Month.


A/N: Beta'd by Kylie Lee

* * *

Malcolm didn't know how long he'd been sitting on the narrow stone ledge. What he did know was that, eventually, he would have to leave it.

Icy tendrils tickled his toes, sending a shiver up his spine and making him pull his legs up from where they'd been dangling over the ledge. There was just enough room for him to lean back against the rock wall behind him and draw up his knees. He wrapped his arms around the damp material of his pants legs, keeping his gaze fixed on the inky darkness below.

Outwardly, he was calm. Inside, he was more frightened than when he'd been trapped on the ship's hull by the spike of a Romulan mine through his leg. Then, at least, he'd been willing to sacrifice his life to save the ship. This was just...senseless.

The luminescence of the cave walls provided enough light to see the surface of the underground pool. He didn't risk closing his eyes for fear that, when he opened them, the water would have silently slithered closer without him seeing. Even so, the dull surface served as a canvas upon which the events that had brought him here could be replayed.

Spelunking, Trip had called it. Malcolm would have thought that their experience tracking down the Denobulan scientists on Xantoras would have been enough caving experience to last both of them a lifetime. But Trip had been fired up about visiting these caverns--something to do with unusual rock formations, and some type of rare phenomena.

* * *

"Siren songs," Trip said, thrusting the data padd under Malcolm's nose as they ate dinner in the mess hall.

Malcolm set down his fork, took the padd, and looked at the screen, which showed a geological report from a previous visit to the uninhabited planet by another Starfleet ship. "The sound produced by air currents going through underground chambers doesn't come from sirens luring sailors to their deaths on a rocky shore," he pointed out ironically.

"I know that," Trip said as Malcolm returned the padd to him. "But it's interesting. Something about the formations, combined with an unusual mineral, distorts sound. I talked to one of the guys who made that survey. He said it sounded like the violin section of a symphony orchestra." He looked hopefully at Malcolm.

"Isn't there anything else to do on that planet?" Malcolm asked.

"Well, we could go fishin'," Trip said, "but we'd have to throw back anything we caught. Doctor Phlox says the fish have some kind of toxin that's deadly if consumed by humans."

"Wonderful!" Malcolm muttered. He'd been planning to skip shore leave. There was always plenty to do in the armory, work he found much more satisfying than plodding about on some planet for no specific purpose other than to get off the ship. But Trip seemed to have his heart set on going planetside, or rather, inside the planet. "Who else do you have lined up for this expedition?"

"Well, I asked Travis," Trip said, "but he's kind of lost his enthusiasm for caves since he broke his leg on Xantoras."

"I don't blame him," Malcolm said.

"And Hoshi's out. You know how claustrophobic she is, and some of the passageways between chambers are kind of tight."

Malcolm cocked his head and asked sardonically, "Didn't the 'siren songs' interest her?"

"Oh, they did," Trip admitted, "but she asked me to make a recording that she can listen to later."

"Smart woman," Malcolm said under his breath. Then louder, "What about T'Pol? Geological wonders, unusual scientific occurrences. She might find it interesting."

Trip shook his head. "She's going to be supervising the science team on the other side of the planet."

"Isn't there anyone who wants to join you on this subterranean adventure?"

"The captain said it sounded like fun," Trip said smugly.

"You're not serious."

"You know the cap'n, Malcolm. He's always up for a challenge." A calculating look crossed Trip's face. "I'll just let him know his armory officer couldn't spare the time from polishing his torpedoes to go with us."

If Trip told the captain that he didn't want to go, he'd look like the biggest coward this side of Jupiter. There was also the fact that his primary duty was to protect the ship and its crew, including when they weren't on board. Malcolm considered that both the captain and Trip tended to let their enthusiasm and curiosity get in the way of good judgment. There was every likelihood they'd get into trouble stumbling around some underground caverns.

"All right," Malcolm said reluctantly. "Count me in."

* * *

Malcolm was shivering. He'd gotten completely soaked before pulling himself up on the ledge, and his wet clothing was cold. If he had his data padd, he could calculate whether he'd succumb to hypothermia before the water filled this little chamber and he drowned. But he'd lost all his equipment, including his headlamp and flashlight.

He consoled himself that, to the best of his knowledge, the captain and Trip were safe.

* * *

"Mind your footing," the captain called over his shoulder.

Jon was in the lead on a level stretch through a chamber approximately the size of _Enterprise_'s bridge. Level, however, was a matter of opinion. The ground underfoot was composed of small rocks and dirt that had slipped down from the sides of the chamber. Each step was taken at the risk of turning an ankle on the shifting material. Malcolm had already had one spill because of it. Still linked to each other with the safety line they'd used during a short descent down a shaft to enter the cave system, Trip had stumbled, and in falling, he had pulled Malcolm down. They'd unhooked the line after that.

"I'm no geologist," Jon said, shining his flashlight around, "but it looks like a lot of water has come through here."

"Recently, too," Trip commented. He leaned down, the light from his headlamp illuminating the ground in front of him, to brush away the top layer of rocks and dirt. "It's damp under this stuff."

"It probably takes some time for it to dry out," Malcolm said, swinging his flashlight in a wide arc and eyeing their surroundings uneasily. He couldn't see where water could have entered the cavern.

As if he knew what Malcolm was thinking, Trip said, "It could just be runoff from rain that filters down through the ground."

Jon reached the far side of the chamber and had to turn sideways to squeeze through a narrow opening. A moment later, his voice echoed back to them. "Hey! You have got to see this."

Trip disappeared in the crack in the rock wall after Jon. Then he, too, called out. "Hurry up, Malcolm! You aren't going to believe this."

Malcolm wondered if they'd had come across some of the unusual rock formations that Trip had been going on about. Placing his feet carefully, he made it over to the opening without a misstep. A breeze coming through the crevice ruffled his hair.

He edged through the tight passageway, which was about two meters long, and emerged in a massive space about half as big as the ship. The beams from his flashlight and headlamp joined those of the other two men, illuminating an area that made him think of the great cathedrals of Europe. Directly in front of them, on the other side of a wide, placid pool of water, stalactites tapered down from the high ceiling to the floor, reminding him of church organ pipes. There was some type of mineral or metal in the rock, for multicolored sparkles reflected from the giant icicle shapes. Between that formation and the pool, sofa-sized rocks were lined up like pews. Shifting his flashlight, Malcolm saw archways at intervals on both sides of the cavern. The biggest opening, nearest the organ pipe formation, could be the choir area, he thought in a moment of unaccustomed whimsy.

As he gazed around, he was aware of the breeze he'd detected earlier increasing in strength.

Trip, standing beside him with his head tilted, said, "Wait for it."

At first, Malcolm didn't hear anything but the dripping of water. But then he heard it: a high-pitched warble, changing in tone, and growing in volume.

"It really does sing," Jon said almost reverently.

Malcolm could understand why the person who'd made the original Starfleet survey had called it siren song. At first, it sounded like someone practicing scales using a bow on a stringed instrument. Then, as the wind intensified, so did the variation of the sounds. The music traveled around the chamber, seeming to enter and exit the archways, the notes constantly changing. There was an ethereal quality to it that was mesmerizing.

"Pretty amazing, isn't it?" Trip asked. "The whole cave is like one giant musical instrument."

Malcolm was about to comment when a deeper, harsher note joined the song. The acoustics of the chamber magnified the sound. Puzzled, he turned in a circle, trying to locate the source. He moved to the left, and the ominous sound seemed to shift to behind him. When he moved back, it was in front of him.

Jon had to shout to be heard over the discordant noise. "What is that?"

Malcolm pulled his scanner from the loop at his waist, realizing at the same time that if the breeze became any stronger, he was going to have to brace himself against it. He steadied himself to look at the scanner's screen. "Bloody hell!" he cried in a panic at what he saw. There was no time to explain. "Head for anything high that you can climb!" he yelled to the others.

He was in motion before he'd finished speaking, heading for some more of the pewlike lumps of rock off to one side. He clambered atop the tallest of them, the deep noise now a rumble, and turned to look back at Jon and Trip. They had heeded his warning and were almost to the top of a steep slope between two of the archways on the other side of the cave. Next to them on the wall, Malcolm could make out something he'd missed before: a waterline clearly demarcating the top of the cavern from the bottom. They ought to be all right if they could make it above that point.

His own situation was much more precarious. The wall on his side was almost vertical, with no handholds that he could see. The rock on which he was standing wasn't going to be high enough, and there wasn't time to cross the cavern floor to the safety of the slope.

* * *

With shaky fingers, Malcolm touched the back of his head and winced. He didn't remember hitting his head. As it was, he was lucky he hadn't broken any bones or--his mind shied away from the thought--drowned.

Everyone had a way they didn't want to die. Drowning was his. He'd long ago quit trying to figure it out why drowning seemed to be such a horrible prospect to him; it just was. He'd accepted it as part of his nature and had worked around it. It was one of the reasons he'd picked a career with Starfleet instead of following the family tradition of serving with the Royal Navy. There was always the possibility of running out of breathable air in space, but that didn't terrify him the way the idea of his lungs filling with water did.

Oh, he could swim. His father had made sure of that. What was worrying, however, was that he couldn't see a line to indicate how high the water had risen in this chamber in the past. That might be because, even though this was a very small chamber, not much bigger than the situation room on the bridge, he couldn't see well in the dim glow from the rocks. But he'd checked the wall behind him, and there was nothing to indicate that this area didn't fill up to the ceiling, which was only a meter or so over his head. If the water rose all the way to the top, he would drown.

His shivering became stronger. Whether it was from fear of what might happen, a drop in his body temperature, or reaction to what he'd experienced, he didn't know.

* * *

A solid wall of water gushed out from behind the floor-to-ceiling stalactites. Malcolm scrambled for the nearest archway, hoping there might be a higher spot on the other side where he could wait out the flood.

He'd just made it to the archway when the leading edge of the water hit him. His feet were swept out from under him, the force of the water pushing him through the opening and slamming him up against unyielding rock. Held in place by the current, he was able to toe off his boots, which had filled with water and would drag him down. He looked frantically for a place he could secure himself, only to see a swiftly rotating whirlpool.

Another wave of water crashed into him, breaking him free from his position.

He instinctively held his breath as he was dragged down into the vortex. He remembered being banged around, brushing against some rock surfaces and colliding with others. Then, when he was about to lose the fight not to inhale as his body demanded air, he popped up in a small chamber. Gasping, he slowly spun himself in a circle as he treaded water, taking stock of his surroundings. He couldn't see much without either his headlamp or flashlight, but the chamber he found himself in was small enough for him to see from one side to the other by the dim, sickly glow emanating from the rock walls.

There was nothing in the chamber but water, and the ledge.

* * *

The water had been about half a meter below the ledge when he'd pulled himself out. Now, it was half that distance. He'd been sitting here, doing nothing but shivering and watching the water rise. It wasn't like him to be so complacent, but he didn't know what to do. There was no way out except underwater. He had no idea if he'd be able to hold his breath long enough to find the opening. If that wasn't daunting enough, there was the possibility that if he did find the way out, the adjoining cavern from which he'd been pulled might be full of water.

He suddenly felt dizzy. Surely he hadn't been sitting here long enough to use all the air in the enclosed space. Maybe it was the blow to the back of the head making him feel this way. Against his will, his eyes slowly closed, but he forced them back open. If he passed out, he'd be unconscious when the water came over the ledge. He refused to have such an ignominious death.

In the few seconds that his eyes had been closed, he noted apprehensively, the water had moved closer to his perch on the ledge.

Disgust and shame began to gnaw at his fear. He'd been sitting here like a coward, too scared to try to save himself, hoping that somehow the captain and Trip would figure out a way to rescue him. He'd half expected that, once his situation was known, he might be transported back up to the ship. Travis was supposed to be on bridge duty, and the helmsman had had enough experience with the transporter not to balk at using it. But they might be having trouble finding his biosign. He wouldn't be surprised if the same mineral that contributed to the siren song also blocked the ship's scanners.

He also wouldn't put it past Trip to suggest using the ship's phase cannons to blow away the cave's ceiling. Too bad the cannons couldn't be focused finely enough to be used more like scalpels than sledgehammers. Then he could just climb out or be hauled through the resulting opening. Chances were, however, that if the phase cannons were brought to bear on this position, the ceiling would collapse, killing him in the process.

The water crept closer.

He came to the conclusion that if the others couldn't save him in time, he was going to have to try to save himself. He refused to sit here and let death come for him without putting up some sort of fight. He felt relieved for having made a decision. Being committed to a course of action had wiped away at least some of his fear. He was still probably going to die, but at least he wasn't so paralyzed by the prospect that he couldn't try to do something to prevent it. Besides, he rationalized, the longer he waited, the farther he'd have to go under the still-rising water to reach the opening.

He considered stripping down to his skivvies, but decided that would require too much effort. Before his resolve could waver, he slid his legs over the ledge into the water. He gasped in shock. The water felt even colder than before. He carefully lowered himself over the side. When only his head was above the surface, he took several deep breaths, trying to hyperoxygenate his body. He took one last deep breath, held it, and slipped under the surface.

The first thing he realized was that, even with his eyes open, he couldn't see anything. It was pitch black below the surface. The second thing he realized was that he had absolutely no idea which way he was heading. He'd twisted around as he'd pushed himself under, and had lost his sense of direction. He had no choice but to let the water buoy him back up to the surface where he could get his bearings.

When he broke the surface, he swam over to the ledge, threw one arm up on it, and caught his breath. He'd have to pay more attention to what he was doing. He didn't know exactly where the opening to the other chamber was, so he'd have to do some reconnoitering--by touch, since he couldn't see--and he'd need to keep track of his progress around the perimeter of the cave. He took several deep breaths and dove back under, this time noting his direction in relation to the ledge, the only sure reference point.

He moved down, letting air bleed from his nose, keeping his fingers against the wall. Just when his lungs were empty, he touched bottom. He pushed off from it and shot up to the surface. This time, he didn't dally at the ledge. He took several gulps of air and immediately went back under. If he stopped to think about what he was doing, he might lose his nerve.

After a while, he lost count of how many times he submerged. Each time was the same. He'd feel his way in darkness, reach bottom about six or seven meters down without finding the exit, and have to return to the surface. And each time when he came up, he would glance toward the ledge.

With a start, he realized that the water level was now even with the ledge.

Along with that disquieting discovery, he realized that he was slowing down. His arms and legs felt leaden, and he wished now that he had stripped off his uniform, which was weighing him down. Further, he really didn't notice the cold any more, which was a troubling sign. He had to find the exit before hypothermia and exhaustion overtook him.

As he dove under yet again, he wondered what his father would say when informed that his only son had died from drowning on an alien world. Probably something about the futility of trying to run away from your fears, and that his son could have drowned just as easily on Earth. The thought was enough to make him laugh, which was a mistake, because without thinking, he inhaled. He fought his way, choking on the inhaled liquid, to the surface.

He spent several minutes coughing and spitting up water. When he could finally breathe with some semblance of normalcy, he berated himself for letting his mind wander. Because of his moment of inattention, he couldn't remember anything about his last descent. He'd have to search that area again.

On his next try, just as he thought he was going to have to turn back for the surface, his fingers finally slipped over a rounded edge, the first break in the smooth rock walls that he'd encountered. Even though his eyes were open, he couldn't see anything. Holding himself in place with one hand, he used the other to explore the area. The best he could tell, the opening was big enough for him to fit. It had to be the way he entered this chamber.

Too soon, he had to go up for air, but he made sure he went straight up so that the opening would be directly below him and he could find it again. He bobbed on the surface and wiped his hand over his eyes. He glanced toward the ledge, but couldn't see it. It must have been covered completely by the rising water.

That's it, he thought. He had to get out of here now. Between the rising water and his rapidly deteriorating physical condition, he had one, maybe two more dives left in him. A shudder ran through him. It would be just his awful luck that, now that he'd found the way out, he would be too weak to take advantage of it.

He tried to reoxygenate his system again by taking deep breaths, but it was harder to breathe than before. He thought it was due to fatigue rather than lack of air. Mentally shrugging, resigned that his next attempt was all but sure to fail, he took the deepest breath he could, then held it as he went back under. He was either going to succeed--or die in the attempt. It was as simple as that. He didn't have enough energy to fret about the outcome either way; he was just too tired to care.

Down he went, tracing his progress with one hand against the wall, his eyes useless in the Stygian darkness. When his fingers came to the lip of the underwater opening, he grasped at it, and because it was slick, he more pushed than pulled himself in. He sensed the passageway pressing in around him and marveled that he hadn't been more banged up than he had been on his inbound journey. Now, pushing himself along, unable to see, he could feel the resistance of a slight current, which accounted for the still-rising water in the small chamber he'd just left.

It was hard going: he was tired and had to work against the flow of water. He tried to delay his need for oxygen by releasing only a tiny bit of air past his lips at intervals as he glided along. He'd saved a few seconds on this descent by knowing the opening was there--he hadn't had to search the wall, just follow it down until he came to it--but he'd been under long enough that the all-too-familiar demand for air was beginning to claw at his lungs.

Just a few more meters, he told himself. It couldn't be much farther. He hadn't been under long enough the first time through to drown, so the passage couldn't be very lengthy, although the rushing water had propelled him more quickly than he was moving now. Any moment he was sure to come out in the chamber with the archway.

Malcolm kept push-pulling himself along, the rock slickly solid under his hands, the need for air vying with his determination not to give up.

A spurt of anger gave strength to his clumsy progress. He wasn't going to die here if he could help it. Drowning on shore leave? What a stupid, useless way to die! He'd always thought that if his life ended while serving aboard _Enterprise_, it would at least be with a phase pistol in his hand or at the tactical station on the bridge, defending his ship and crewmates.

The last of his air bubbled out of his mouth, caressing his cheek in its wake. The last of his strength floated away with the bubbles.

He managed another meter or so of agonizing progress before his forward movement stilled. Water rushed into his mouth. Unable to stop himself, he inhaled. His eyes opened wider in shock in the all-encompassing darkness.

But it wasn't dark. Not totally. There was a glow in the water ahead of him. He blinked, trying to clear his foggy brain, even as he was gagging, his lungs filling with suffocating liquid.

The light was moving, coming closer, growing bigger. It had to be moving, because he'd lost his forward momentum when he'd run out of air. If anything, he was being slowly pushed backward by the current.

Then his limited vision began to shut down. The beam was shrinking as his sight tunneled down to a pinprick. Could it be one of those toxic fish Trip had told him about? Trip hadn't said they came equipped with their own light source. Just above the light, he could see the reflection of two dark, round orbs. It made sense that if they lived in darkness, they'd have large eyes, the better to gather light...

His consciousness faded, but not before the strange fish with the headlight reached out toward him. Since when did fish have arms?

* * *

Malcolm shot up with a gasp. The abrupt intake of air in his raw throat and lungs made him cough violently, which in turn made his eyes tear uncontrollably.

"Easy, Lieutenant," came a familiar voice. "You're safe."

Malcolm looked around frantically through watering eyes. He slowly calmed as he realized he was where he usually wound up after some misadventure involving Trip: sickbay. As the coughing fit subsided, he wiped his eyes with a tissue that was thrust into his hand, and lay back on the biobed. Now that he could see clearly, he could make out Doctor Phlox standing next to the bed.

"How--?" Malcolm managed to croak, which only set off another bout of coughing.

Before Phlox could say anything, the doors to sickbay slid open, and the captain and Trip walked in.

"How's my tactical officer doing?" Jon asked Phlox.

"He'll make a full recovery," the doctor responded. "I've fixed him up after far worse scrapes."

Depending on how you felt about drowning, that was debatable, Malcolm thought.

Phlox smiled, and left the captain and Trip alone with him.

"Feeling better?" Jon asked.

Malcolm took a careful breath, wary of setting off another round of coughing. "I'm not sure. I'm glad to see you two are all right, sir." He took another careful breath, which came a little easier than the last. "Thank you for getting me out of there."

"You're welcome," Trip said, rocking up on his heels.

Jon shot the engineer a wry look, then turned back to Malcolm. "Neither Trip nor I had much to do with your rescue, other than to call up to the ship." He paused. "You're probably wondering how you got out of there."

"Yes, sir."

"Travis used the transporter to come down to the entrance to the cave system," Jon explained. "That's the closest the transporter could get him to you. After he hiked in and suited up, he went into the water where you disappeared."

So he'd been right about the transporter not working through the rock. Malcolm's eyes lost their focus. One of the last things he could remember were two large eyes, which his now lucid mind understood to have been goggles. "Travis found me in the underwater passageway, didn't he?"

"That's right," Trip said. "Travis said you were too far gone to try giving you oxygen from the extra mouthpiece attached to his air tank, so he just grabbed you and hauled you out as fast as he could."

Malcolm shook his head. "Is there any kind of sport that Travis doesn't do?"

Jon laughed softly. "I'm not sure, Malcolm, but I'm glad that Travis had his scuba equipment on board."

"So am I," Malcolm agreed heartily. He didn't remember the actual rescue, but he did remember what had happened just before he'd succumbed to drowning. He started to laugh but caught himself, leery of another fit of coughing. His lungs ached something fierce. He assumed Phlox had had to pump his lungs. He wouldn't be surprised if some of the doctor's creatures had been used in the process, a thought that made him somewhat queasy. He swallowed, forcing down nausea, and said, "I must have been delirious near the end. I thought Travis was a big fish."

"I can't wait to tell him that," Trip said with a chuckle.

Jon was more serious. "You saved our lives, Malcolm. If you hadn't yelled at us to move, we probably would have been swept away with you."

"The water didn't get all the way to the ceiling in the cathedral, then?" Malcolm asked.

Jon smiled slightly. "I supposed that big cavern did look like a church. No, the water didn't reach us. We were high and dry, thanks to your warning." He reached down and grasped Malcolm's shoulder. "You take it easy for a day or two."

Jon took his leave, but Trip grabbed a chair and dragged it over next to the bed. Malcolm stared balefully at him as he sat down.

"What?" Trip asked.

"Siren song," Malcolm said in disgust. "I should have known it would end like this."

"Hey!" Trip said defensively. "How was I to know that cave system flooded like that? The original geological report didn't say a thing about it. Besides, nobody forced you to come along."

"Forced me--?" Malcolm spluttered incoherently. Trip had practically blackmailed him into going. And if he hadn't gone with Trip and the captain, there was a good chance they both would have drowned, all because Trip had to go off chasing weird sounds on a strange planet. The least Trip could do was show a little gratitude. The more Malcolm thought about it, the angrier he got. Before he knew it, he was coughing again.

The commotion brought Phlox bustling out of his office. "Commander Tucker," he said, "perhaps it would be best if you let my patient get some rest." He poured a glass of water from a carafe on the side table.

"Yeah," Trip said, getting to his feet. "Really, Malcolm, I'm glad you're all right." He turned to walk away, but his words floated back over his shoulder. "I'm going to have to stop takin' you along on my shore leaves. You always get hurt."

Malcolm, who had managed to quit coughing, took a deep breath, ready to give Trip a piece of his mind. Before he could say anything, however, Phlox shoved the straw of the water glass in his mouth. Malcolm took a sip and accidentally swallowed the wrong way, and was coughing again before the sickbay doors closed behind Trip.


End file.
